Knives Out
by vincent404
Summary: Bert, losing it due to a dream, begins his journey through the depths of his soul...
1. Knives Out

Disclaimer: The Raccoons are owned and copyrighted by Kevin Gillis.

All characters and show are copyrighted by there rightful owner.

Notes: This original appeared on my website, however it is a total rewrite.

V Production Studios present...

A Vincent404 Production

The Raccoons in...

Knives out

"Staring down this wretched, black corridor , with blood in my eyes and darkness in my soul, I wonder if it was all in vain.. whether or not it was all worth it... heh, who fucken knows now, but I do know this... there's no turning back now." Staring down the barrel, the raccoon begin to cock the Remington. The sweat, beading down this brow, sting with each salty drop. Hammer fully cocked. Reminiscing why he began this, he places the revolver into his mouth, closed his for the last time, pulled the trigger...

CLICK

"AH!" That's all Bert said, waking from his troublesome slumber...

_ It was just dream..._ was all in his thoughts... Although a dream, the usually cheerful raccoon could not keep his mind off it. He had killed himself, point blanc. No questions asked, no backing out thought... pow! And that was it. It troubled him to think that his mind could render a thought so vivid. In his dream, he had felt the cold handle, the smooth barrel, and the cylindrical projectile burning through his head. He could see the blood splatter over his eyes as his last seconds of the dream shocked him. But what had caused himself to kill himself, what made him so evil as to take his own life... _Jesus, it was just a dream Bert, get a grip_ But it hard to shake a dream like that.

"Fuck it," he said under his breath, getting out of bed and heading down to the kitchen. _Maybe some water would help_ he thought _Yeah, I'm just thirsty_ as he lied to himself walking down the stairs. Step by step down the stairs, the dream replayed itself in his head. The scenario kept getting more vivid, stronger and more brutal. Emotions came out of no where, frustration, rage, despair, hatred. And then sadness... Bert stopped right in his tracks, almost losing his very soul on the stairs. the madding , solemn dream began to take its toll on the already frightened mammal. _Get a fucken grip!_ he screamed in his thoughts, _It was all a god damn dream!_ He was losing it all over a suicidal dream. It was an aspect the usual happy go lucky, "I'm Bert Raccoon", fun guy never expected to cross his mind. He was scared to even consider it, yet the idea still lingered in his mind. _Let me just get this fucking glass of water... please god... let me get this water_. Going to the cupboard, paws shaking, he filled his glass. The cool glass began to calm him a bit, until he caught his reflection in the glass. What revealed was a Bert he had never seen. The physical features were all in the correct places, but the spirit was total off the mark. This one was much darker, much more prone to insanity. Bert's spirit at this point resembled less like a sane person and more like a heroine addict willing to do anything for his next hit. He kept staring at the reflection, allowing the anger to fester in him, linger, expand, loom, grow intensify boil and ... SMASH! Shards of glass littered the floor. A small puddle of water and crimson blood was on the ground. Drip Drip Drip... Blood covered his paw and pain was there, but Bert was not phased. totally immune to it. It was as if some demon had taken over his full being, conquering the soul, spitting it out, and inhabiting the body, leaving nothing but a demon in the shell of the shattered raccoon.

Bert never did wash off the blood as he walked up the stairs, leaving a blood trail over the rail... He walked up to his room, got into bed, and drifted into a sleepless dream where scenes played over and over in his head. Thoughts like him taking his best friend life, rapping his girlfriend with extreme force and not taking any pity. Although frightened by these thoughts, his mind would not allow him to wake up, forcing him to see all these thoughts.

Another dream involved him and his other raccoon friend, Ralph. Similar scenes of death and anger appeared as Bert saw himself brutally beating his friend, taking away his life second by second. He could see Ralph slip away into death and as a final atrocity, cut his head off with a simple knife. Seeing himself gorging out Ralph's eyes, Bert but could wonder why he was not waking up. Was it because he was too afraid to? Or was it because he secretly liked this? Yearned for it? Or , even craved it?

Bert's head went through many different death scenes, each involving his friends tortured and killed by his own hands in devilish, freakish, and sometimes quick ways. The odd thing was that in each scene, Bert looked more and more freakishly pleased, implying this was a killing orgy for him, pleasing him in some deep erotic way. As morning approached his room, Bert woke up very silently and did not think of anything... He went down the stairs, walked outside the house and begin to walk to the lake. Walking in the soft pine filled ground, he realized how pretty the morning dew was on the trees. He begin to consider his options and knew what he had to do...

To be continued.


	2. Barrel of a Gun

The air was calm, cool, and somewhat refreshing change of scene for the usually indoor raccoon. With his usual blue shirt on, and a jump in his step, Bentley Raccoon was feeling extremely giddy this morning. He didn't know why he chose to take a walk that early morning. _Hell, even my parents are still asleep_ he thought, walking in the forest, early morning mist hitting his face. It was spiritual walk, filled with self pride and a moment of clarity. Somehow, all the thoughts in his mind more concrete during the walk, easier to grasp, and by that account quicker to consider. The sun was barely coming up when he arrived at the lake. Looking into the distance, he noticed someone extremely familiar, wearing his trademark red jersey with a felt letter yellow "B" on it. _What the heck is Bert doing up? Bentley_ pondered ,gazing at the raccoon. _Hell, bastard doesn't get up till fucken 1:00. What the heck is Lazy ass doing up?_ He continued to walk down towards Bert. Oddly enough the raccoon noticed him and turned around very slowly, looking creepy and strung out. Bentley backed up initially, but began to walk ever slowly to the zombie like raccoon. Bert gave all the visual signs of a distressed and psychotic person. Bentley was thrown off by this and intrigued at the same time

"Hey Bert," Bentley stated as he looked at the raccoon. No response, just eyes. "Um... you doing okay Bert?" Bentley questioned, wondering if he would even get a response. As expected , Bert gave no verbal answer, only a cold, long gleaming glare, and a weak smile. The whites of his eyes, giving Bentley an icy cold sting. It wasn't till he looked down towards Bert's paws was when he realized the severity of the situation _Oh shit..._ was all Bentley could think as he looked down at the hunting knife in Bert's hand, gleaming in dawn's sunlight. Without questions, Bert swiped it past Bentley, almost scoring a direct shot at the little raccoon's jugular.

"Fuck!" Bentley screamed, running, darting, dodging any and all attempts to terminate his life. _Oh shit Oh shit Oh shit Oh shit Oh shit_ went through the young raccoon as he sprinted to any random point in the forest. It didn't matter where he ran, just that he ran away. For Bert, this was all part of the fun, as a smile came upon his face, and a low laugh limiteds from his mouth.

Bentley was scared beyond belief. Sweat, tears, drool all streamed down his face. There was no time to swallow. _Must keep running must keep running _he thought, franticly trying to find shelter from the daft raccoon. Running, he noticed a small empty shack to his right. Without question, Bentley blitzed to the shack, slamming the door closed and locking it, all in one swift motion. He grabbed whatever he could to barricade it, praying that it would hold. Looking franticly for any sign of a weapon, even a blunt object, faith falling with every fleeting second, making the ever present idea that his actions were in vain. He had only a minor amount of hope, slowly coming to terms that his demise might be tonight. . With hope fading into the recesses of his frightened mind, he heard a constant banging on the door, getting louder and louder ,counting down his impending doom. He kept looking around and oddly enough, found a shotgun, with two shells loaded.

SMASH

Bert burst through the door, looking for his "little buddy".

"Yo, Dip shit!" Bentley screamed, taking a little time to aim at Bert. There was a rooster crow heard in the distance as the sun finally rose signaling the days beginning. In some other part of the forest, two little squirrels hunted for food, while fish in the pond began their hunts. There was a faint smell of dust in the air, with a hint of pine. In a matter of seconds, none of these elements that Bert took stock of would matter.

BAM

"Ahhh!" Bert startling said, awaking from his slumber ... _Wait... all that was a dream?_

He thought, processing all the events that had came to past, or at least he though came to past. The whole entire scene, the dreams, Bert crazy, all a dream. Bert was relived entirely, as if a huge amount of guilt was lifted. However, he began to take stock of his surrounding, noticing his room was different, some things missing, some things new. It looked eerily familiar, yet total different. No bunk beds, just a bed. He could feel the heat of some one else near him however, though with the total darkness, he could not even begin to guess if it was someone else or just his imagination. When someone begins to lose it, it's harder to place what is real and what is not.

_Am I awake... or still dreaming? I don't even know anymore..._

To be Continued.


End file.
